Hot SEAL, Cold Feet - Becca Jameson Page 0,2

moment to respond. The hard-nosed woman who’d entered this room with her fists raised to fight him was now soft and teasing and cute. The dimples on her cheeks made her seem almost human. Her eyes were dancing with humor.

Another lock of curls fell across her cheek, and he watched as she tried futilely to tuck the hair behind her ear. Part of him was mesmerized by her transformation and wanted to reach out and brush those curls off her cheek himself. He wondered if her hair was as soft as it looked.

Was this even the same woman? The one who called him deranged and certifiable? The one who now called him a “chiseled, sexy hunk of man”? Wait. With brains and wit?

Tuck licked his suddenly very dry lips. “Sorry, ma’am. I can’t tell you anything about the show. I’m under contract. I’m not permitted to discuss it with anyone.” This was his standard memorized response for anyone he might meet on the street who begged him for information.

Her smile grew and then she rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. We desperately need to clean up this drug problem in the bar, and it would seem you’re more than qualified to do it. The faster we catch the dealer, the sooner we won’t need your services anymore. I’m not kidding when I say we can’t afford a bouncer. Dad likes to pretend everything is peachy around here, but I’m the one who keeps the books. We’re barely in the black.”

Tuck nodded. “I’ll try to solve your problem as quickly as possible.”

Chapter 2

Tuck had been assured he could go on with his life, get a job, do normal things. As long as he met the requirements of his contract with the production company, New Millennia Media, he was golden.

Granted, the confines of his agreement were pretty tight. Most people in their right mind wouldn’t have signed on to do this show. Jodi wasn’t wrong about that. Tuck hadn’t hunted out this job at all. He’d never heard of Cold Feet until one of his good friends from BUD/S training had contacted him a few months ago and begged him to fill a hole in the show.

Tuck had been dragging himself through life for several months when he got that call from Nick Nelson. His final tour with the SEALs had ended a few months prior, and he’d done nothing but mope around since then. Nick had known Tuck was depressed, bored, unemployed, and available. He had also known Tuck needed money.

Tuck hadn’t hesitated, jumping on the opportunity, not giving a shit what the show was or what would be required of him.

That was ten weeks and a lifetime ago. He’d been contracted to finish the last two weeks of Cold Feet as the projected groom when the previous actor was basically voted off the island, so to speak.

Tuck was not an actor. He’d never once considered doing anything remotely like this. He was, however, in need of cash, and people would do lots of crazy things for money when pressed against a wall.

His contract had stipulated that he would get five thousand dollars to finish out the two weeks of the show and a bonus twenty-five grand if he actually married the bride.

Katia. Jesus. What a joke. He’d known from the moment he’d arrived that Katia was only in it for the money. She’d been far more desperate than Tuck to get married. She hadn’t even cared to whom. After the first groom, Carl, had been booted for bringing, of all things, date-rape drugs on the show, Katia had begged Tuck’s friend Nick to take his place. Nick was in a new relationship with Dani, the woman he’d been half in love with for over a decade, so he’d turned down the opportunity and called Tuck.

That was how Tuck had gotten into the mess. Five grand had sounded like a windfall. After a few days when he’d realized Katia intended to play the game however necessary to get the other twenty-five grand, Tuck had decided what the hell. Thirty thousand would go a long way toward easing his financial burden.

And then, at the last second, the stakes had gone up…

“How much longer is this reality show going to go on?” Jodi asked, spinning around behind the bar.

Yanked from his ruminations, Tuck lifted his gaze. “One more month.” When the show had ended, the producer had offered them a new contract. Another fifty grand to stay married for ninety days. They’d had to